Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1887-05-19
CHAPTER XIV.


AT LASTl
"Robert," said Shirley, show would it be if
knew your fatheri'
"And if you did, Shirley! If he was man
whom could not be proud of, I would thank
| you to leave his name unrevealed. Since my
ancestry is not what thought it, let it go.
shall never seek to traceit out. 1t mightn't
| be pleasant, you know"
allow would it be if your father was an
Americana"
II shouldn't mind that now. But if he
wasn't a gentleman? No, no, don't tell me,
Shirley"
"But how would it be if he was a gentle
man, man of power, and name, and genius,
one whom his countrymen hold high in
honorn .f ,.- .T.t.. .E ...
"That would make difference, Shirley, I
confess it. shouldn't mind it if my parents
| had been poor, l despise the vulgar wealth
| which in your country sets itself up i'll the
| place of ladyhood and gentlemanhood. If
| my father was merely one of these vulgar
| rich, then don't mention his name. But if
he is what you say! Tell me, Shirley, who is
my father?"
| "He is man you have seem"
"You don't tell mel"
had met him. did not tell you he was one
of my earliest friends"
| SNOW that is interesting."'
"Robert, you are happy indeed. 1t is a
pity we couldn't have the choosing of our
own fathers always said it. If we could,
we'd all be happier and better looking. But
if you had the choosing of both your father
| and your foster father, you couldn't possibly
have done better for yourself than fate did
for you. Both are men for any boy alive to
be proud of. Robert, your father is Philip
Dumoray."'
At this the young man, who prided himself
on controlling his emotions, walked once
across the room and back Then he stopped
| and remarked merely:
"You don't tell me!'
~ have written him." continued Shirley.
ale will be here tomorrow"
| The young man meditated. Then he said,
kindly and condescendingly:
"On the whole, I think I'll acknowledge
him."
&
Miss Simpkins was very ill. A messenger
came to say that it was the one desire of her
heart to see Shirley. Faithful as always,
| forgetful of herself, remembering others,
Shirley Went It was & gray, chilly after
noon. She who had been a ministering angel
! to SO many, shivered from head to foot as she
crossed the threshold of home again, passing
| out of the cold and darkness into the warmth
| and light. ,....... ~.
When Shirley came home, Miss Simpkins
| was dead Her last look had been turned to
| Shirleyis face; she passed into the eternal
silence holding Shirley's hand 1t seemed to
comfort her But Shirley was unduly shaken.
| The years of tensely strained life had worn ON
the fine strong organization more than ap-
peared. 1,, ,...f
She was cold all through, and could not
| get warm. The glazing eyes Of the dying
woman seemed to follow her, and fix them
selves upon hers, turn which way she would
| II was a foolish, nervous impression, but she
could not shake It Off Presently, her teeth
! chartered, and she shook all over. She was
In chill She sighed and said:
. '"I am cold and tired. I am all gone to
pieces" l.tf I'' ~ 81.
y Next morning she had fever But it oc-
CURED tohobody that Shirley was seriously
| iii, and needed looking after. 1t had always
been Shirley who looked after the rest
In the afternoon, Philip Dumoray came.
Master and pupil were together at last,
with none 10 come between .ii
When he came, Shirley lay languidly
across by the fire, upon one Of the low
couches whereher mother had spent years
Of ornamental invalidisn. &utna sfW r
1t happened that none were by to question
the strangeness Of his sudden arrival He
lifted Shirley N his arms without word,
and held her in a mighty embrace Only
death could take her from him nows
| But of that hour of meeting, no record
! more than this will ever be made.